Returning to Her
by TheShock
Summary: After he saw her in Switzerland, Hercule Poirot could not take his mind off her. Will he see her again, have a second chance at taking back his ruthless words? [Hercule Poirot/Vera Rossakoff pairing, set after the ITV episode with David Suchet, "The Labours of Hercules", rated T to remain safe.]


**Good grief, yet another plotbunny...**

 **This one haunted me ever since I've watched the Marrascaud case (during the Labours of Hercules episode).**

 **All I can say is that I'm grateful to David Suchet for bringing to life the little Belgian detective!**

 **I've looked around for good Hercule Poirot/Vera Rossakoff fanfics, and since there were none, here's my plotbunny on this.**

* * *

 _"Some grief shows much of love,  
But much of grief shows still some want of wit."_

Hercule Poirot looked from the windows of his apartment as the snow gently fell down and covered, flake by flake, the sidewalk, the people, but his mind was definitely wandering further from the city's usual _bousculade_. Even Hastings noticed his rather absentminded attitude since Poirot's return from Switzerland, as if the man before him was, by his best guess, _troubled_. Yes, it certainly was like that, for the tall man couldn't stop looking at the detective with curious eyes.

Captain Hastings greeted Poirot in his usual manner, but he was used to the fact Poirot didn't notice his salute when completely absorbed by a case - and then he sat on the large leather sofa, reading the Times in a comfortable position. From time to time, he would glance at the small statured detective to see if he moved, but when he saw Poirot wasn't even budging for fifteen minutes straight, the captain decided to take the matter in his hands.

 _"I'd say, Poirot's never been this thoughful before."_ Hastings mused as he set aside the Times, and rose from the sofa with a loud yawn escaping him.

"Poirot, each day I come around, I find you staring at that window-" the captain tried to break the silence, but Poirot did nothing but slowly raise a hand.

" _Mon ami_ , I can assure you, I am perfectly fine." the belgian detective said with a rather dismissive tone. "I am merely _thinking_."

"About what? Some important case?" his friend said as he arched an eyebrow, "Ol' boy, I've seen you thinking, but never like _this_."

In truth, Hercule Poirot's mind was wandering back to the adventure with the paintings about Hercule's Labours, and especially over one point he could never understand. Was he blind, was he prideful? Or he just didn't want to admit _he_ _was in love with her_?

Countess Vera Rossakoff.

 _"Dorogoy..."_ the gentle voice of the Countess rang through his mind, recalling the tender look she bestowed upon him, those eyes, those beautiful eyes that stunned him in place each time they met one another. He looked at the window one more time, his eyes betraying a hint of regret and doubt, and shook his head in denial.

 _"Non. I- I can't, chérie. I can't. You, I, we-"_

"Poirot?" Hastings' troubled voice brought the detective back to the sheer reality he was forced to see day by day, night by night.

" _Oui,_ Hastings, what is it?" the small man turned to face his friend, trying at best to hide his pain. "Do you need reassurance that I am _alright?_ "

The tall captain didn't know what to reply, because he was more preoccupied on looking at his friend - Poirot was certainly a little paler and tired than before - and that alone was the sign of _exertion_ , meaning he must be thinking on a case, that's all. "No, Poirot. I think you're taking the case a bit too far, that's what concerns me, you look like you haven't slept well lately."

"Hastings, ever the usual _outwitted_." the small belgian said with an absent voice, as he sat at his large wooden desk and sipped gently from his tisane. "I don't have a case, _mon ami_ , I merely returned from one," Poirot's eyes were affixed on Hastings, "but nevertheless, if the _opportunity_ presents itself..."

The lighthearted discussion was interrupted by the loud ringing of the phone, which Poirot instantly answered. " _Oui_ , Poirot speaking. Yes, of course. No, I understand. _Merci_ , Inspector Japp."

"A case, finally?" Hastings said as he saw Poirot's eyes shining with some excitement, and then returned to their usual green.

"Yes. It involves someone dear to me..." Poirot sighed a little as her image came back in his mind.

 _"Dorogoy...spare her, as you've spared me so long ago."_

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 **A little A/N in here...  
**

 **For those of you unfamiliar with Russian, _dorogoy_ means "dear, darling," and it's used for men.**


End file.
